


Lazy Day: ANOTHER Asrian Fluff Piece

by 900JarsOfNerdyJellyBeats



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Fluff, Nopal No Worries, Other, Romance, Snuggle Time!, Stress-free Escape, thank you for reading :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/900JarsOfNerdyJellyBeats/pseuds/900JarsOfNerdyJellyBeats
Summary: Stressed? Anxious? So is Julian. Luckily, Asra's there to help him relax.
Relationships: Asra/Julian Devorak
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Lazy Day: ANOTHER Asrian Fluff Piece

**Author's Note:**

> What to Bump: "Do You Remember" by Jack Johnson

Lazy sunlight filters through the open window, bathing fortunate sections of the room in comfortable warmth. Occasional breezes sweep unseen tufts of magic about the room, mingling with the atmosphere, enhancing its tranquility. Herbal aromas drift about as well, combining with everything else to make it virtually perfect.

That is, the perfect day to stay inside.

It’s the gentle brightness that stirs Asra awake. He inhales, taking in all the warmth and magic and scents, as he stretches his arms above his head. He slowly releases it, using one hand to fluff his already fluffy hair and the other to feel around in the space next to him. The only things that come up under his fingers are lush sheets and a pillow. He peeks over to see that side of the bed already made, multiple pages of chicken scratch littering the nightstand next to it. He chuckles to himself as he turns to his own nightstand, a cup and saucer already resting on it with what he believes to be far too cold lapsang souchong. He then picks up on the quiet, tactful rustling and clinks coming from the kitchen. Taking another deep breath with a smile trailing his lips, he groggily calls out:

“Ilya.”

The rustling stops. Asra hears Ilya’s strong footsteps approach as he supports himself on his arms. When he finally opens his eyes, he sees Ilya standing at the foot of the bed, already dressed: eye-patch, boots, and all. He clutches a mug in one hand as Faust slithers up and around his shoulders. Asra looks directly at the mug.

“How much coffee have you had?” Asra interrogates, rubbing his eye.

Ilya blinks, looks down at his drink, and sighs. “Not enough.”

He slowly moves over to his nightstand and sets it down next to the other empty mug. Asra follows him with his eyes, turns over in the bed, rests his head in his hand, still smirking.

“How long have you been up?”

“Not long.”

“What have you been worrying about...?”

“N-nothing!”

Ilya jumps a little and turns to him with a wide eye, a faint blush powdering his cheeks.

_Such a terrible liar, as always._

Asra‘s eyes find Faust’s cocked gaze. “Faust, is he telling the truth?”

_“Slippery friend worried!”_ Faust shouts with a flicker of her tongue.

Ilya looks at the familiar in shocked exasperation. “Faust!”

Faust takes the opportunity to make her escape as she races onto the nightstand and up to the windowsill, sharing Asra’s mischievous smile. Asra barely suppresses a chuckle as he acknowledges Ilya’s fluster.

“Well, one of you two is lying,” he says playfully while methodically stroking Faust’s scales. “And something’s telling me it isn’t Faust.”

Ilya closes his eye and sighs in defeat, a gloved hand running through his hair as his shoulders slump. “Alright, yes, I’ve been worrying and, yes, I’ve been up for a while. But I wasn’t lying about the coffee.”

Of course he wasn’t lying about the coffee.

“I-I mean, what _isn’t_ there to worry about?” Ilya continues, beginning to gesticulate in order to accurately convey his frustration (as he does). “I haven’t seen Malak in ages.”

“Ilya.”

“Pasha’s out at sea and who _knows_ if she’s okay.”

“Ilya...”

“And then Lucio could be out, being a pain in the ass at the palace or the forest or wherever, and I can’t do a thing! I’m just stuck here like a—“

“Ilya Devorak.”

Ilya jumps at the sound of his full name. He was so preoccupied with his concerns that he obviously didn’t notice Asra step out of bed and pad over to where he’s standing. The pink tinting his cheeks starts to deepen.

“You know what a _vacation_ is, right?” Asra asks, folding his arms over his chest.

Ilya rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “R-right. For breaks and relaxing and stuff.”

“And you know that the world won’t suddenly implode on itself while we steal a couple of moments away here at Nopal, right?”

“S-sure,” he responds in a mutter, fidgeting a bit in place, staring at the ground. “B-but what if it _does_?”

Asra lightly shakes his head at Ilya’s increasing concern. He’ll never admit it, but Asra actually starts to worry when Ilya worries. Asra doesn’t worry about the same things he does, though; Nadia and Muriel said they’d keep an eye on things (Lucio also promised he’d be on his “best behavior,” but he has a habit of breaking promises), and Mazelinka vowed that nothing would happen to Portia, although Asra is confident that Portia will be able to hold her own regardless. No, Asra worries about _Ilya_. He’s notorious for easily falling into guilt-ridden spirals that always start with worrying about nothing, and it always hurts Asra to see him like that. Ilya doesn’t need or deserve more self-inflicted anxiety. He’s been through far too much to go through more pain. Their whole Nopal getaway was supposed to be for Ilya to ease his stress, not amplify it. Unfortunately, it seems that the latter is becoming true, and Asra is silently starting to worry.

Well, at this point, there’s only one thing Asra can do.

“I-I mean, given how the world operates, it could totally just spontaneously implode, or worse!” Ilya continues, slowly letting his fears consume him. “What if I’m not there to help? What if everything goes wrong because of my absence? What if—“

He gasps. Asra undoes one of his coat buttons.

“Take off your cape,” Asra commands, his hands gliding down to the next button.

“Wh-huh?”

Asra’s eyes dart to his, making his flush a shade deeper.

“Take off your cape,” he whispers as he undoes the next button.

An air of (semi) understanding seems to cross Ilya. He clumsily unhooks his cape and lets it fall to the floor. Asra unclips the rest of the buttons and slides the coat off his torso, dropping it on top of the cape. He looks back up at Ilya only to find his face almost completely flushed. Seeing that look in lieu of stress or arbitrary worry makes Asra feel a bit lighter as he chuckles and tugs on his undershirt.

“And the boots.”

Asra has never seen a person take off shoes so fast in his life. He laughs a little more as Ilya crawls onto the bed with him.

“Am...am I missing something?” Ilya asks timidly, the flush stretched all the way to the tips of his ears now.

Asra shrugs with a smile as he sits cross-legged in front of him. “Maybe. Was I sending mixed-signals again?”

“M-maybe...”

_“Snuggle time!”_

Both of them snap their attention to Faust, who’s staring at them upside-down from her spot on the windowsill. Asra smiles at his familiar’s resonance.

“Exactly, snuggles,” Asra repeats as he gives Faust’s chin a quick rub. He turns back to Ilya, his smile becoming playful. “Is that what _you_ were thinking?”

Ilya blinks, averts his gaze, clears his throat. “Y-yeah. We can, uh...we can go with that.”

Asra laughs fully. Oh, goodness, what is he going to do with such a problematic child?

“Sounds fine to me,” Asra says through fits of laughter. He extends his hands. “May I?”

Ilya looks back at him. “Huh? O-oh, of course.”

He places one hand in both of Asra’s. Asra shifts onto his knees as he unlatches the glove and slips it off his arm, tossing it on the floor behind him. He does the same with the other glove, his hands lingering on Ilya’s, his eye catching the murderer’s brand on the back of it. His thumb glides over the mark as he unconsciously recalls certain times. Tumultuous, merciless times. Anxiety begins creeping its way up the base of his chest. He quickly shakes the memories from his mind before it can manifest, though; now isn’t the time for reliving any of that. They’re on vacation, after all.

“Your hands are cold,” he comments gently, allowing the usual iciness to settle into him.

“Th-they’re always cold,” Ilya states quietly.

Asra closes his eyes and gingerly raises it to his lips, carefully blowing some warmth into it, using a teensy amount of magic for a little boost. He’s gotten used to his cold hands—he spends every day with him; how couldn’t he?—yet it sends a sharp pang through him every time they meet his. It’s most likely because of how vastly different the temperatures of their extremities are, and that’s what Asra tries telling himself, but, deep down, he knows that’s not entirely true. These perpetually cold hands remind him of a potential, unforgiving fate. One where everything takes a turn for the worse. One where Asra can’t save Ilya. One where Asra’s completely, utterly helpless. Useless. Ruined. This tiny gesture soothes Asra, whether he’s aware of it or not, and reminds him that all of those things won’t happen. As long as he’s here sharing whatever warmth he can muster with his love, then everything will be fine. He has nothing to worry about.

Asra feels Ilya’s hand gradually relax in his grasp, senses his breathing become deeper and steadier.

“Better?”

He opens his eyes and watches Ilya, who also has his eye closed and isn’t looking as flustered anymore. He seems more...at peace.

“Better,” he breathes.

Asra’s heart flutters. He loves making Ilya feel better.

“Good,” he whispers, unable to restrain a jubilant smile. “That’s good...”

Asra presses one, two, three kisses onto Ilya’s fingers, his lips remaining on his forefinger just a little while longer. He hears Ilya’s quivering breath as he gently lowers his hand, sees his eye drift open and meet his blissful gaze.

“Don’t move,” Asra directs softly.

Ilya flinches as the blush promptly returns to his cheeks. “O-okay...”

Asra places a light hand on his shoulder and leans in, their noses brushing together, their lips only centimeters apart. Asra can practically feel Ilya’s anticipation surging in his stomach—or is that just his own?—when Ilya’s breath catches as he shockingly maintains Asra’s eyes. Asra knows he wants to move, but he doesn’t; he obeys the command. Asra smiles, leaning forward still just to undo the eye-patch fixed over Ilya’s right eye. It peacefully falls away. He settles back to where he was before, taking in all of Ilya as he blinks rapidly, probably allowing his other eye to adjust to the gentle light.

_Beautiful, as always._

“Better?”

Somehow, Ilya’s face flushes even more. Asra’s the only one who can do something like that to him.

“B-better.”

He smiles fondly as he reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind Ilya’s ear, his hand caressing his cheek, his own face beginning to burn.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Asra wisps.

Ilya’s completely stunned, obviously still eluded by genuine compliments, which is one of the things Asra absolutely adores about him. They could be together for millennia and he’d probably still get flustered at Asra’s remarks. Whether he’d get used to them or not, Asra would still love him regardless. Find him gorgeous. Admire his soul. Cherish him dearly. Asra knows Ilya thinks that he’s the fortunate one in the relationship, that it’s Asra who came to his rescue, but he couldn’t be more wrong; _he_ saved Asra, and Asra’s beyond grateful to spend each and every moment he can with him.

“I-I, uh,” Ilya fumbles adorably, “that’s really...I-I mean—“

Asra raises a finger to his lips.

“You don’t need to say anything,” he says, searching his eyes and finding whatever solace he needs to find. He closes in and lets their lips brush together, the faintly bitter aroma of coffee on the very tip of his tongue. He lingers there for a moment, indulging in the tantalizing taste, not really wanting to pull away. But he does anyway; he has something different in store for Ilya.

He drifts ever further from his face while his hand cascades down his cheek, his neck, his shoulder, his arm, before finding his hand. Still maintaining his enchanted daze, Asra lets himself fall back onto the bed with a wistful smile.

“Lay with me,” he whispers, lightly pulling on Ilya’s arm, his other hand outstretched to him.

Ilya simply nods in response, slowly lowering himself into Asra’s embrace. Asra giggles as he awkwardly attempts to get his lanky limbs in place. Eventually, his arms (somehow) settle around Asra’s waist and his head finds its spot on his chest. Asra absently begins stroking Ilya’s hair, the auburn locks tickling his chin.

“Comfortable?”

Ilya shifts a bit at the question, his cheeks still flushing. “About as, uh, about as comfortable as I can get.”

Asra lets out a huff of laughter as he twirls one of Ilya’s curls in-between his fingers. “Right. Of course.”

He pauses for a moment, intwining his fingers deeper into his hair, before wisping:

“I want you to do one more thing for me.”

Ilya stirs a bit more. “Wh-what’s that?”

“Breathe.”

Asra can feel Ilya’s eyebrows furrow. “B-breathe? Just breathe?”

Asra nods. “Just breathe.”

Ilya usually forgets how to breathe—how to _properly_ breathe, that is—whenever he lets himself worry too much. It’s Asra’s belief that it actually worsens Ilya’s worry, and we all know how Asra gets when Ilya’s worried. He’s found that reminding him to breathe, and even doing it with him at times, is one of the best ways to calm him down. It’s something everyone needs to do.

Asra guides one of Ilya’s hands on top of his chest and lightly presses down, the warmth and cool mixing and mingling together beautifully.

“Don’t think,” Asra whispers gently, resting his cheek on top of his head. “Close your eyes and follow my lead.”

Ilya clears his throat, nods against his chest. “Okay...”

Asra closes his own eyes and clears his mind, his own worries gradually beginning to seep away.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“In...”

Asra lets his lungs fill with the mirthful atmosphere of Nopal, his chest rising lazily. He feels Ilya synchronize with him.

“And out...”

His chest deflates as Ilya’s does the same. Ilya feels slightly less tense.

“In...”

Their chests rise together, rejuvenating air filling their lungs, easing a bit more of their woes.

“And out...”

They exhale together. Ilya relaxes more into Asra, Asra’s heartbeat steady under his gradually defrosting hand.

“In...”

Once more, they inhale, any sense of worry far from their minds, the both of them completely engulfed in each other’s presence.

“And, finally, out...”

They all but melt into one another, Asra’s mind flushing with happiness, a low, contented hum escaping Ilya.

And, just like that, they’re reminded that they have nothing to worry about. Not a single thing. For they have each other.

Asra’s eyes flutter open. He looks down at his love with a faint, delighted smile.

“Better?”

Ilya moves his head to meet Asra’s eyes with a faint, delighted smile of his own. The benevolent sunlight sheens his auburn curls perfectly, brightens his soft eyes further, makes Asra’s chest nearly ooze with numbing affection. Because he sees Ilya clear as day. There’s no fluster. No anxiety. No guilt. Simply gentle, delicate, blissful joy.

“ _Much_ better, my dear.”

Asra feels his heart ache and his face flush at those last two murmured words. Well, if Ilya can always fluster at even the smallest of compliments, then Asra will always combust at the sound of the precious name. Ilya leans in and presses one, two, three kisses onto Asra’s lips, lingering on the last one just a little while longer. He parts with a contented smile that most definitely makes Asra’s heart skip a beat.

_“Better!”_ Faust chirps, plopping her head down on top of Asra’s. They both giggle as she happily slides down his head and wraps herself around Ilya’s shoulders, relaxing once settled into place.

Ilya lowers his head onto Asra’s shoulder, his hand finally warm against his chest, his demeanor that of pure, drowsy joy.

“Thank you, my dear,” he mutters.

Asra beams as he kisses his forehead, his thumb gently gliding over his knuckles, that same soft joy enveloping his soul.

“Thank _you_ , my love,” he replies in a whisper.

It’s not long before Ilya’s light snoring fills their quaint getaway, a sound Asra hasn’t heard in too long a time. It means that Ilya’s sleeping soundly. That he’s finally let go of his worries. That he’s actually at peace. Resonating with the tranquil, warm energy laden within everyone and everything, he, too, drifts off to sleep with his favorite familiar and his favorite, scatterbrained, extraordinary person. ** _  
_**

****

**_~FIN~_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if these are disruptive, but holy heck, this was extremely therapeutic for me to write. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, have an amazing day/night, everyone! <3


End file.
